


i seem to find the happiness i seek

by mercuryhatter



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Married Couple, Shaving, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: old married angels share a soft and tender moment in the bath.





	i seem to find the happiness i seek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rennish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rennish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [so that i can hardly speak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715065) by [rennish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rennish/pseuds/rennish). 

> rennish wrote a sad pining thing literally ending on a hyphen, like a monster, and I was overwhelmed with the urge to finish the sentence in the exact opposite way he intended. whoops.

The bathroom was filled with the smell of vanilla and tobacco, cut slightly by the milder eucalyptus from the fading bubbles in the expansive bath. (Crowley had bought the vanilla tobacco candles because the smell of them reminded him of Aziraphale, a fact that went known but unspoken between the two to preserve the dignity of all.) The air was thick and warm, lying across Crowley’s bare skin with the heaviness of a tropical storm, though it left Aziraphale’s skin, as well as the light shirt he wore, rolled at the cuffs and open at the neck, miraculously untouched. His curls were frizzing slightly in the humidity, but he rarely paid attention to such things. 

Beneath the frizzing curls, Aziraphale’s head was currently bent attentively to the task under his soft, manicured hands: Crowley’s left leg, half damp with foam. Aziraphale drew the razor carefully along its path while Crowley gazed down at its progress as if mesmerized. 

They were each silent, except for the faint humming from Crowley, which flew in fits and snatches from him as he passed in and out of complete relaxation, rising when the tune from Aziraphale’s old record player caught his fancy and fading when Aziraphale’s hands made a particularly tender motion, or rose far enough up his legs to make Crowley’s breath catch. From Aziraphale, only a whisper of breath, even as a metronome, brushing softly against Crowley’s exposed, slightly raw skin. 

As Aziraphale finished, he dropped the razor delicately in the soap dish and took up a tub of mildly lilac-scented lotion, smoothing it over the long lines of Crowley’s legs. His hands kept moving long after the lotion had been absorbed between them, then followed his hands with mouth, and the sleepy silence broke with Crowley’s gasp, and Aziraphale’s low chuckle.


End file.
